My Lady Judge (4 page)

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Authors: Cora Harrison

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BOOK: My Lady Judge
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His face cleared. ‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Of course I do. Did you ever know me to say something I didn’t mean?’
‘I’ll do that, then,’ he said. ‘Do you want to tell her?’
‘Tell her yourself,’ she said gently. ‘She’ll prefer to hear it from you. I’ll go now, Malachy. Don’t bother coming with me.’
That was a waste of time, she thought as she made her way
out, with a quick wave to Nuala who was industriously tying up the straggling stems of the woodbine in a shady corner of the garden. I would have been better off to see Feirdin myself and now I don’t have the time. Still, it wasn’t a waste of time to have managed to persuade Malachy not to sacrifice his clever child to a disappointing marriage with that brainless Naoise O’Lochlainn.
She resolved to make up her mind when she saw Feirdin MacNamara at Poulnabrone that afternoon. Her experience was that boys are funny creatures at that age. They can be up and down. The chances were that Garrett MacNamara was making a fuss about nothing. He was a fussy individual. He reminded Mara of the pot that Brigid kept on the fire, full of wholesome soup for the scholars – perpetually bubbling and from time to time suddenly over – boiling. Feeling more cheerful at this mental picture of the pompous Garrett, she hitched up her calf-length
léine,
or tunic, and swung her leg over the stone wall that separated the townland of Caherconnell from Kilcorney.
Once across the wall, Mara stopped for a moment, running her hand over the rough slabs of sun-warmed stone set in a herringbone pattern, each huge slab dependent on its neighbour for stability. A few gentians, like tiny specks of dark blue jewels, were sprinkled on the south side of the wall. She bent down to touch them gently and then drew in a breath of triumph. Yes, there was a purple one among them. These were very rare. Mara looked all around to find some landmarks that would identify this site again to her. She would gather seed when the flower faded and then next year she would have purple pools in the blue river of gentians in her garden. Between the stone circle in the townland of Kilcorney and the thorn tree in the townland of Caherconnell, she thought, making a mental note, and then narrowed her eyes.
There was a small, thin, frail figure standing motionless inside the stone circle. She knew immediately who it was. It was Father Conglach, the parish priest of Kilcorney, and she knew that he
had seen her. Reluctantly she raised her hand in greeting. She watched him with distaste as he came to the edge of the circle and beckoned to her. The sight of him reminded her of the fourth case on the schedule of this afternoon. A child of twelve in the parish of Kilcorney had possibly been raped and had undoubtedly produced a dead infant and Father Conglach had refused burial in the churchyard to the baby. Mara was suddenly filled with hatred for the man. How could he have refused the request of that unfortunate child? How could he have refused to bury her stillborn baby? She herself was not a religious person; her prayers to God were perfunctory and mechanical – she usually worked out a few law problems during the weekly obligatory Mass – but she could never have done what he did. Nevertheless, he was an important part of the community of the small kingdom of Burren and she had decided a long time ago that peace within the community was one of her main aims in life. So, although she was tempted to give him a cheery wave and then ignore his summons, she turned aside from her path and joined him at the stone circle.
People called this place Athgreany, the Field of the Sun. It was a huge circle about forty yards across, made from thirteen tall stones plugged securely into the grykes, or crevices, of the limestone beneath. On the north side of the stone circle, even taller than the stones, was a cairn, its rounded sides covered with small white pebbles of quartz. In the centre of the circle was a flat slab of gleaming quartz, placed on top of two white limestone boulders, like a vast altar, and Father Conglach had moved across to stand beside this altar when she reached him.
‘Look,’ he said commandingly, and she saw what he was pointing at. There were some dark stains on the white stone and a few flies buzzed above them. Mara bent to look, but she knew immediately what it was.
‘Blood,’ she said calmly.
‘Of course it is blood,’ he said furiously. ‘You know what’s
been happening here, don’t you? Devil worship, that’s what’s been happening.’
More likely some silly youngsters bored and looking for excitement, thought Mara. She would have to defuse his anger or his unfortunate parishioners would be harangued for months to come. She continued to pretend to study the bloodstains and the area around them intently.
‘It’s just a fox, Father Conglach,’ she said after a minute. ‘Look,’ she pointed at the ground near to his feet. ‘That’s fox fur.’ She picked up the small piece of golden-brown fur and held it out to him. ‘No human sacrifice,’ she added, smiling.
He glared at it. ‘The sin is just as great,’ he said stiffly. ‘The Lord God sayeth: “Do not place false gods before me.” Who are these sons and daughters of iniquity who would do such a thing?’
‘They probably meant no harm,’ said Mara soothingly. ‘It was probably a fox from a trap. He would have been dead already.’
‘That doesn’t concern me,’ he replied loftily. ‘Sin is my concern. Whoever has been here and taken part in these filthy revels has a sin on his soul and that sin must be cleansed through penance and suffering.’
And what about your soul? thought Mara. Have you no sin on your soul for the anguish that you caused to that poor young girl, Nessa? What does God think of you refusing to bury her dead baby in the churchyard, refusing a blessing, or even a prayer, for the poor little mite?
‘I want you to bring this matter up today at Poulnabrone,’ he continued. ‘I want a full investigation and the people concerned brought to justice.’
‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid,’ said Mara. ‘My office is to investigate breaches of the law. There is no law regarding the killing of foxes.’
‘There would have been dancing and singing and other matters going on,’ he continued, ignoring her. ‘I saw Rory the bard near
here late last night. He had a girl with him. I couldn’t see who she was as she had her head turned away – but I have my suspicions. And I distinctly saw Roderic the horn player with the young girl, Emer. What do you think that they were up to?’
‘What indeed?’ murmured Mara. She sighed theatrically. ‘Young people!’ She tried not to let a smile creep out. Had he ever been young? she wondered. But no, he would have been swept out from the world and immured in some monastic establishment before he knew what the world was about. He was of the Roman school of ecclesiastics; the Celtic church was milder and more forgiving, and, until fairly recently, priests had married. One of the Heptads, she remembered, stated that the wife of a priest must keep her head covered in church.
‘I require you to investigate this matter, this morning if possible, and bring the culprits to justice,’ he said angrily. ‘There should be a heavy fine for all of them.’
Mara shook her head firmly and allowed a note of iron to creep into her voice. ‘No, Father, I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘I’ve studied the law since I was four years old and I’ve never come across a law that prevents the young from singing and dancing and enjoying themselves.’
‘I’ll report you to the bishop,’ he snapped. ‘Bishop Mauritius of Kilfenora will be most angered to hear about this.’
Mara shrugged. ‘King Turlough Donn O’Brien will be here himself today at Poulnabrone. You can speak to him if you wish,’ she said coldly. ‘I am his officer and it is for him to tell me what to do. Bishop Mauritius is in the kingdom of Corcomroe. Now, I must say farewell to you and get back to the law school. I have my scholars to care for.’
‘I hope none of them were involved in last night’s devilry,’ he said spitefully. ‘There are things going on near your own law school, you know. I’ve heard sounds from that cave. I’ve watched them. You should take better care of your scholars; you should
keep them harder at work, Brehon. The devil finds mischief for idle hands to do …’ And then, when she said nothing, he called after her, ‘I am going up Mullaghmore Mountain myself tonight. The bishop requires a report from me. He is thinking of banning these pagan festivals like
Bealtaine
and substituting a Christian service in the church in honour of Our Lady.’
Mara had turned away but now she faced him. ‘I’m going up myself, also,’ she said, making an immediate and swift decision. ‘King Turlough will come too.’ The king would probably not be too happy, she thought with an inward chuckle, but he would enjoy his dinner all the better after the exercise and it would do him good. After all, he was not yet fifty – not too old. No need to go right to the top and no need to stay until the bonfire at midnight. They could just climb the first few terraces, and then come back. The important thing was to be seen to do it. Even the bishop would be wary of interfering with a custom sanctioned by the king himself.
That gave Father Conglach a shock. He stood staring at her, his grey eyes as cold as those of a raven.
‘The king!’ he said, and then he rallied. ‘I’ve heard that the king is a man of poor judgement.’
‘He is a man of warmth and integrity,’ said Mara evenly. ‘And I am surprised to hear you criticize your king.’
The priest knew he had gone too far and he tried to retract. ‘All of us can make mistakes,’ he said loftily. ‘If the king’s chief advisers, his Brehons, do not give him the right counsel then he may be led into deeds unworthy of him.’
Mara was walking away, but then she stopped. She took a deep breath. Would she ignore this or retaliate? Retaliate, she decided immediately. She whirled around and walked back to him.
‘By the way, Father Conglach,’ she said stonily, ‘one of the cases that I will be hearing today at Poulnabrone is about poor young Nessa. What can you tell me about her?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked furiously. ‘What have I to do with that girl who committed such a grievous sin?’
‘One of your own flock, nevertheless,’ said Mara. ‘She, her father and her mother worship at your church every Sunday. I understand that her mother cleans the church, so I would have thought that Nessa’s welfare would be of great concern to you.’
‘Her spiritual welfare is of concern to me,’ he replied gravely. ‘And so is the spiritual welfare of everyone within the parish of Kilcorney. And this devilish work’ – he stabbed a finger dramatically at the stone circle – ‘this endangers the souls that are in my charge.’
With that, he swung around and stalked rapidly away across the stones towards the church of Kilcorney.
Well, that got rid of him, thought Mara, but her sense of satisfaction was soured by the thought of poor young Nessa. Her religious mother might have been better taking care of her than spending all her free time cleaning and polishing the church. Nessa was left on her own to get up to mischief and the mischief had resulted in a stillborn baby. Who really was the father of the baby? wondered Mara for the fiftieth time. Why had the girl obstinately refused to give his name for the whole of her pregnancy, and then suddenly changed her mind? And why had Nessa given such an unlikely name for the father of her child?
TRIAD 176
There are three destructive elements to the wisdom of the court:
1.
A harsh pleading
2.
A talkative court
3.
A judge without knowledge
During the proceedings of the court, the Brehon may be
addressed as
‘Tighernae’,
my lord judge, or ‘Ban
Tighernae’,
my lady judge.
 
 
T
HE DOLMEN OF POULNABRONE stood at the eastern edge of the four miles of flat tableland called the High Burren. Four huge upright slabs, each of them the height of a man, supported the soaring capstone of rough, lichen-spotted limestone. The field around it was paved with limestone clints, the grykes between them dotted with purple-spotted orchids, and the dolmen stood silhouetted against the sky, towering above the clints.
By the time King Turlough Donn and his bodyguards arrived
for judgement day Mara was seated at the foot of the dolmen with Colman by her side and her six scholars gathered around her. The field was full of people who had walked or ridden from all corners of the hundred-square-mile kingdom of the Burren. The only empty spot was immediately around Diarmuid who stood unhappily, holding a wildly barking dog by a stout iron chain. People backed away nervously and the space around man and dog grew larger by the minute.
Turlough Donn had become king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren in the year 1499. He was a heavily built man, about fifty years old, with the brown hair that had given him the nickname of ‘Donn’ just turning grey, light green eyes and a pleasant open face. A pair of huge moustaches curving down from either side of his mouth gave his face a warlike look, which was denied by the gentle amiable expression in his eyes.
‘Mara!’ He greeted his Brehon as always with a hearty kiss and Mara responded with a hug. She was fond of the king. His warmth and his generosity appealed to her.
‘We’re honoured by your presence, my lord,’ she said formally as the four
taoiseachs
of the principal clans of the Burren – the O’Lochlainn, the O’Connor, the MacNamara and the O’Brien – came up to greet him.
‘Ardal! Finn! Garrett! Teige!’ With his usual lack of formality, the king saluted each of his chieftains with a quick slap on the back and then seated himself beside Mara.
‘I’m looking forward to having dinner with you afterwards,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s a favour I want to ask of you.’
She looked at him in surprise, wondering what it was.
‘I have a favour to ask of you, also,’ she said quickly. ‘I want you to come up the mountain, up Mullaghmore, after we finish here. Father Conglach, the parish priest of Kilcorney, is trying to stir up the bishop of Kilfenora against the custom. I know that the bishop is in Corcomroe, not in the Burren, but his diocese
spreads up here and it could make things very unpleasant if priests try to forbid their parishioners. It’s an old custom and a harmless one. Will you come? If you show approval, then it will be hard for the bishop to stand against you.’
‘Of course, I will,’ he said with all the good humour that she had learned to expect from him. ‘I will enjoy that. I’m sure it will be good exercise for me, too. Your lads are going too, I suppose. How many of them have you now at your school?’
‘Just six,’ said Mara. ‘The four oldest scholars graduated last year – Cormac went back to Cork, his father is Brehon there, Aodh got a position in Ossary, Giolla went to Donegal, and Colman, you know Colman … well, I kept him as an assistant master. He’ll move on when this term finishes.’
‘Funny, you keeping him,’ mused the king, his eyes on Colman who stood a few feet away, wearing the severe expression of one who bore the burden of the whole day’s proceedings. ‘I’d’ve thought that some of the others would be more your type. Cormac, now, he was a boy of great spirit.’
‘Come to court all ye people of the kingdom of the Burren and hear the judgements of the Brehon,’ called Colman in his shrill, reedy voice and everyone obediently drew nearer, all the while casting uneasy glances at Diarmuid and his dog.
Mara rose to her feet and picked up a scroll of parchment. ‘The first case is between Diarmuid O’Connor and his cousin Lorcan O’Connor,’ she said, raising her voice more than usual. Normally she could pitch it perfectly to the back of the crowd, but the barking of the dog made her doubt whether her normal tones could be heard. She unrolled the parchment, glanced over it and then rolled it up again. She had, in fact, not got round to writing up this case, but the scroll was like a wand of office to her by now, always held in her hand, but seldom referred to. Her memory was excellent, trained by years of study.
She wondered briefly whether it would be worthwhile telling
the dog to be quiet, but decided not to bother. After all, he would prove her case better if he kept barking.
‘Diarmuid’s cow was stolen from a latched cabin within the yard around his house,’ she continued, her eyes scanning the back of the crowd to make sure that everyone caught her words. ‘The door to the yard was bolted on the inside, but the bolt could be reached over the top of the door from the outside. This dog, named Wolf, was free in the yard.’ Abruptly she pointed her scroll at the dog and it stopped barking and eyed her uncertainly. Mara took advantage of the quiet and proceeded. ‘During the night someone entered the yard and stole the cow. But,’ she paused dramatically, and heard the sigh of anticipation from the crowd, ‘this dog did not bark. Why did the dog not bark? The dog did not bark because he knew the man that came in and stole the cow. Who was that man?’ Again she paused and again the crowd sighed. Mara felt a familiar rush of pleasure. She loved these occasions.
‘That man was the only man on the Burren, apart from Diarmuid, who could approach this dog. That man was the breeder of the dog.’ Here Mara stopped and turned around and pointed at Lorcan, who was looking down at his feet. ‘And the breeder of the dog was Lorcan O’Connor. What do you say, Lorcan? Do you plead guilty?’
‘I found the cow straying,’ muttered Lorcan. ‘I was going to return her. Someone else must have stolen her.’
‘And who, except yourself, could have gone into that yard and faced the dog?’ said Mara, raising her voice. The dog had begun to bark again. ‘Diarmuid’s bedroom window was just above the yard. One bark would have woken him.’
‘Other people knew the dog,’ said Lorcan with desperation in his voice. ‘He would not have barked for some people that he knew well.’
‘Who?’ demanded Mara. ‘Is there anyone here today who can
approach this dog without making him bark?’ She glanced all around the assembly, but no one shifted his position. Most people were looking amused. Lorcan was unpopular and they were enjoying this.
‘Is there anyone here who will go up to the dog and test him?’ asked Mara.
‘I’ll try,’ offered the king after a long silence.
‘Oh, no, my lord,’ said Diarmuid. The sweat broke out on his forehead at the very idea of what might happen if his dog bit the king.
‘I won’t go too near,’ said Turlough Donn. He got up from his seat and steadily strode towards the dog, eyeing him carefully. The dog leaped and strained at his chain and barked with rage. The crowd cheered and laughed.
‘Well, I think that was convincing,’ said the king, returning to his seat with a grin.
Mara waited until the echoes of the dog’s frenzied barks died down. ‘We’ll do another test. Colman, my assistant, has been with this dog all the morning. The dog surely knows him by now. Colman, will you approach the dog, please?’
Shane, Mara noticed, was nudging Hugh and smirking, but Hugh was not smiling; just staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on Colman. All of the other boys, even eighteen-year-old Fachtnan, were sniggering as Colman walked slowly and reluctantly towards Wolf. The crowd fell very quiet. There were none of the gleeful smiles and cheers that had greeted the king. Colman was not popular, thought Mara. She had noticed that before. The people of the Burren were uneasy with him.
There was no need for Colman to go too far. The dog immediately lunged at him and broke out into a passion of barking. Colman drew back hastily, licking his lips. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his high white forehead.
‘Now we’ll try a last test,’ said Mara. ‘Lorcan,’ she ordered, ‘approach the dog.’
Slowly and reluctantly, Lorcan began to move. The crowd parted to allow him through, a broad smile appearing on everyone’s face. Even Finn O’Connor himself was laughing at his clansman’s discomfiture. Lorcan, a ferocious scowl on his face, tried looking away from the dog but Wolf was not deceived. His barking was replaced by a soft puppy-like whine and he began to wag his bushy tail.
‘Stroke him,’ commanded Mara and Lorcan stretched out his hand and stroked the massive head. The dog’s tail now wagged so hard that it wagged his whole body. A deep sigh of amusement came from the crowd. The case was proven.
‘Have you anything to say, Lorcan?’ enquired Mara.
Lorcan shook his head miserably.
‘In that case, I pass sentence,’ said Mara. ‘Fine imposed is one
sét,
or half an ounce of silver, to be paid within five days. Case dismissed.’
‘May I take the dog home now, Brehon?’ asked Diarmuid.
‘You may, indeed,’ said the king with a chuckle. ‘That dog has been an excellent witness. He did not fear to speak out and to convict the guilty.’
The ensuing roar of laughter made the dog bark again and King Turlough Donn smiled with satisfaction.
 
 
‘Next case,’ called Colman, regaining his poise and indicating to Gráinne MacNamara to come forward with her son, Feirdin. Garrett MacNamara,
taoiseach
of the MacNamara clan, strode out and faced them both. He was a tall, aggressive-looking man with a high sloping forehead, a fleshy nose and a heavily swelling lower lip.
Garrett made his case as convincingly as he could. Mara listened carefully, although she did not look at him as he was speaking. Her eyes were fixed on Feirdin. She felt quite puzzled. There was something strange about him. After all the stories about his fits of rage, she expected him to protest, to get angry, but he said nothing. He did not seem even remotely interested in the proceedings. He was a good-looking boy, she thought, with large blue eyes and brown curly hair.
‘I don’t see much wrong with him,’ said the king in an undertone. ‘What does the physician say?’
Mara beckoned to Malachy and he came over and took his place beside Colman.
‘Give your opinion,’ commanded Mara.
Malachy held up a scroll and read the account of his medical examination of the boy in a monotonous voice. Mara did not listen very carefully this time. The report contained very little and did not mention that strange joke about the little man in the boy’s head. She had already made up her mind what to do.
‘Gráinne,’ she said gently. ‘The court feels that your son has certain problems. There have been times when he has frightened others on the Burren. Do you feel confident that you are able to keep your son from harming anyone?’
Gráinne lowered her eyes for a moment and then looked straight at Mara. ‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said defiantly.
‘And yet, in the past, he has exploded with rage and your
taoiseach
is worried about him and about you.’
‘It’s the other lads, Brehon,’ explained Gráinne, ‘they will tease him and call him names. He likes to be on his own. He likes walking around and collecting bits of rocks. He has them all on shelves at home.’
‘That sounds very interesting,’ said Mara. ‘You must show me your collection sometime, Feirdin.’ She looked directly at him, but he avoided eye contact with her. There was definitely something
wrong with him, but was it enough to condemn him to the harsh stewardship of his cousin who might well keep him tied up? This would not only frustrate him more, it would be likely to drive him into full madness. She paused for a moment, whispered to the king, and then rose to her feet.
‘The court finds that Feirdin MacNamara is to be classified as
fer lethcuinn,
a half-sane man. This means that he has the protection of the court and the community. Anyone who incites him to commit a crime must himself pay the penalty, anyone who mocks him will be fined five
séts,
two and a half ounces of silver, or three milch cows. This is the law of the king.’
The crowd moved and sighed once more. Mara could hear the soft murmur of conversation swell as neighbour turned to neighbour. Heads nodded. It had been a popular judgement. The crowd approved. She only hoped that they, and she, were right. I’ll go and see him tomorrow myself, she thought. I’ll check on him at least once a week.
‘Next case,’ called Colman.

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